


that magic of yours

by kathkin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Chrestomanci fusion, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: Like most nine-lifed enchanters, Merlin first realised he had nine lives when he died.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 135





	that magic of yours

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [this prompt](https://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/11649.html?thread=8515201#t8515201) on Kink Me Merlin in 2010.
> 
> Which was actually my own prompt! I wrote this fic as an entry for a crossover challenge which was part of a different event, but it came out over the limit & attempting to cut it down to size butchered it so badly that I gave up, wrote something else*, and posted this as a fill for my own prompt.
> 
> Due to the nature of the challenge it had to have a sex scene in it. So that's why this fic is the way it is.
> 
> *The 'something else' was a _Howl's Moving Castle_ fusion which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/872868), iirc it actually placed in the challenge? So starting over was the right call evidently.

Like most nine-lifed enchanters, Merlin first realised he had nine lives when he died.

He was eleven years old. He fell out of a very tall tree, hit the ground hard at an awkward angle, felt his neck break with a jarring grinding _snap_. His last thought in his first life was simply ‘ _well, that’s that, then’_.

His first thought in his second life was ‘ _bollocks_ ’. He was alive. Unharmed. His neck didn’t even hurt. He struggled to his feet and wandered away through the woods towards his house, where he was scolded by his mother for staying out for too long. He decided it was best not to tell her what had happened.

*

He lost his second life to a bad case of the flu. Which was just ridiculous, it really was.

No, go back a bit. A lot happened in between his two deaths.

He met Arthur, for one thing. It was his first day at his new school, and it wouldn’t be right to say that Arthur didn’t seem important at the time, because he did. It was only later that Merlin saw him as insignificant.

Arthur looked him up and down, taking in the second-hand uniform, the battered shoes, sneer growing on his face, and said, “They let anyone in these days, don’t they?” Merlin scowled, but didn’t reply. “What are you, a scholarship boy?”

“Yeah,” said Merlin. “Magic scholarship.”

“Oh, come on,” Arthur scoffed (Merlin found out later that the Pendragons put not stock in magic at all, thought it was for people who were just too lazy to use their hands). “That’s just pathetic.”

“You,” Merlin said, “are an utter prat.”

Arthur hit him squarely on the jaw.

For about a year after that, Arthur was everywhere, tormenting Merlin and his new friends at every opportunity, lording over them with his name and his titles and his pedigree.

Until one day Merlin decided that he had had enough, and turned Arthur into a donkey for an hour or so. He didn’t see much of Arthur after that. Life was peaceful, routine, maths and Latin and cricket, marred only by the dizzying heights his magic grew to as he got older.

*

Merlin was fifteen when he lost his second life in a shivering, feverish daze. It just slipped away one night, leaving the matron screaming, the school in chaos. _It was just flu_ , the matron said. _I don’t understand._

He awoke the next morning, sleepy but healthy. Shortly thereafter, he was visited by a man called Mr. Chant.

“Mr. Emrys,” he said, settling himself in the chair beside Merlin’s bed. “You look well.”

“Um. Thank you,” said Merlin. 

“The matron told me what happened,” said Mr. Chant. “Remarkable, don’t you think?” 

Merlin just shrugged. “Not the first time,” he said. Mr. Chant’s eyebrows went up. “I was eleven. I fell out of a tree.”

“And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” said Mr. Chant. Merlin shrugged again. “Never mind. I’m going to be blunt with you, Mr. Emrys. Are you familiar with the position of Chrestomanci?”

“I’ve heard of it,” said Merlin. He stared at his hands.

“Do you know what it involves?” said Mr. Chant.

“It’s like… Prime Minister. But for magic,” said Merlin.

“Something like that, yes,” said Mr. Chant. “Only it’s an appointed position, Mr. Emrys. It requires an enchanter with nine lives.”

“I don’t know if I have nine,” said Merlin. “I’ve got at least three, I suppose.”

“You have seven, Mr. Emrys,” said Mr. Chant. “Assuming you didn’t lose any others without noticing. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me. We’ve been looking for you for a long time. You have a lot to learn.”

*

He glimpsed Arthur briefly through the window of the car as they left, and thought, with a satisfied sigh, that he need never seen him again.

*

Four years later, a little older and rather wiser, comfortable in his skin, with his magic, Merlin happened upon Arthur again.

They were at a party, some sort of function being held in Chrestomanci Castle. Merlin had tucked himself in a corner, away from all the people in their stiff suits and fancy hats who only looked down on him more when they learned who he was, when Arthur all but walked in to him.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, “I didn’t mean to – you!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Me,” said Merlin, blinking at him. “Hello.”

“They let anyone in here,” said Arthur, marveling.

“I’m Chrestomanci-in-waiting,” said Merlin. “Actually.”

“What, you?” said Arthur. Merlin nodded. “Really?” Merlin nodded again, more slowly. “Well,” said Arthur, raising his glass. “To the health of Chrestomanci, I suppose. Long may he live.”

“So what are you doing here?” said Merlin.

“My father’s the Prime Minister,” said Arthur.

“Ah,” said Merlin. He stared down at his drink, deflated.

“So,” said Arthur, after an awkward pause. “If I killed you, would you come back to life?” Merlin stared at him. “Not that I’m going to.” Merlin continued to stare. “I’m not! I just – forget I asked. I hate these functions. They make me nervous.”

“Me too,” said Merlin. “At least they don’t all look down on you.”

“There is that,” said Arthur. He downed the rest of his drink. “So – you live here, then?”

“I suppose,” said Merlin.

“You could – show me around. Or something,” said Arthur.

*

An hour or so and half a dozen drinks later, they reached Merlin’s bedroom. Arthur was giggly when a little drunk. That was unexpected. Once the door closed behind them, he slid his hands up under Merlin’s shirt. That was unexpected as well.

“So,” said Arthur. “Why don’t you show me some of that magic of yours?”

Merlin smiled.

They ended up tangled together on his bed, half-dressed, Merlin sending bright tendrils of magic up under Arthur’s skin, writhing and caressing, until he groaned and begged and his hips jerked upwards. When Merlin wrapped a hand around his prick, he came quite spectacularly.

“Like it?” he said after, breathless.

“It’s not all bad, I suppose,” said Arthur.


End file.
